The Avenue

The Very Beginning

I remember the day my family found me-my adoptive family, that is. The Stands family consisted of Joyce (mom), Adam (dad), Clark (my brother, called Clay), and Jonas (3 year old Great Dane) at that point.

I was wandering the streets of the small town of Fairstonville. 5 year old me was looking for a home, having left my mother in an alley when she ODed on drugs. Me, I had never gotten near any of those drugs. They were too precious for my mom to even let me touch them.

It wasn't that I grew up in a bad home. I started out with a mom and dad, but my dad took off and sent my mom into a depressive state. Then, she started taking drugs, and that was how my life first spiraled out of control.

Anyway, back to wandering me. I saw the warm yellow lights of Fairstonville's only family restaurant, then called Tony's Diner, now called "lot for sale". I was looking in the window hungrily, my nose brushing the cool glass, when the bell above the door opened. I turned my head and froze, and so did the family leaving the diner.

"Hi there, honey. Are you lost?" the lady spoke to me quietly and calmly.

I shook my head.

"Where's your family then, huh?" the little boy, who couldn't be much older than me, questioned, his eyes narrowed.

"Dead." I was always one for being blunt. I don't like to beat around the bush.

The boy's face transformed from one of suspicion, to one of surprise, then to one of confusion, and finally to one of sadness and concern. The lady and man's eyes widened.

"Wanna come home with me....what's your name?" the boy asked.

"Kell-bee." I pronounced it, proudly. I didn't know much about myself then, but I knew my name. My full name.
"Kelbe Andreason Maxaawish."

Yes, I know, none of those names sound like actual names. But my dad clearly didn't give a crap what I was called, and my mom was very original, and so my middle name ended up being the most normal part of my name.

The boy's eyes widened just like his parents', as if he was intimidated by my full name.
"I'm Clark Stands."

"Kelbe, why don't you come home with us? We'll clean you up and feed you real well," the man spoke. "I'm Adam, and this is Joyce." He pointed to the lady when he said the second name.

I smiled at the mention of food and nodded vigorously. Joyce took my small hand and we walked to their car.

That was how I got my family. Not your typical orphan tale beginning, huh?

>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<

The rest of my childhood was a pretty good one. The Stands lived in a medium-size suburban house, but it always felt smaller with their Great Dane Jonas using it as his playground. Clark, or Clay, as I called him, was a year older than I, which didn't really make a difference until we were in high school. Suddenly, he was too cool for me, and I was relentlessly teased for being an orphan and for having a weird name. Seriously, why can't anyone seem to get over how weird my name is?! It's just a name!

My sophomore year was when I began to feel like an outsider. I felt like the fun parts of high school were gathered in the cafeteria behind locked doors, and I was on the outside looking in (frequently, I was literally locked out). I didn't understand. All throughout middle school, no one teased me. I was actually pretty popular with my relatively good looks, extreme athleticism, and need to be around other people. With light brown hair, permanently-tanned skin, high cheekbones, and pale green eyes, people considered me pretty. But I didn't. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all, and it's all genetics and luck.

Sorry, I digress. Anyway, just as I was beginning to feel like a loner, Jonas died, leaving me feeling more alone. 12 was pretty old for a Great Dane, though.

3 days later, on a Wednesday, I walked in on the rest of the family having a hushed conversation that stopped when I walked in. Knowing I probably wouldn't get an answer if I asked, I ignored the fact that I had interrupted their conversation and sat down to eat, forcing the 3 other people at the table into an awkward silence until I got up and left. I always excelled at making things awkward. I still do. It's one of those skills that tends to stick with you, no matter how much you try to forget you have it.

When I woke up on Saturday morning on the porch (I liked to sleep out there in the spring), I went in the house to find it empty. It was devoid of furniture, people, and noise. My family had gotten up and moved without letting me know. What the heck.

I rushed up to my room, hoping there was some of my stuff still there. After all, a 15 year old girl wandering the streets in her duck PJs looking for a home isn't exactly someone you want to take in. Luckily, all my stuff had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Yes, luckily.

After gathering as much as I could into a suitcase and a shoulder bag/purse, I took one last look sprung the room, searching for any clues as to why I was left behind like an unwanted pet.

Nothing.

I went downstairs to get down food and found $200 in a Tupperware container in the refrigerator.
I guess Clay forgot his stash, I thought. Sucks to be him.

The fridge also contained some food. Yay. There was a gallon jug of water, a hand of bananas, and a pack of Clay's favorite beef jerky (my least favorite kind). I sighed. At least there's something, I thought.

After gathering the food and water into a plastic grocery bag lying on the floor, I turned tail and ran out the door, actually eager to leave the empty house, the scene of my ex-family's betrayal. Never one to get mad, but rather calculate revenge, I took a can of bright red spray paint from the garage. I went around to the back of the house, which overlooked some farms and Fairstonville. I sprayed words on the back of the house as my revenge.

"FAMILY LUKE YOU PROMISED."

You nerds will get that reference. Or anyone who read good books growing up really. I'm not going to explain it, except that a character says it when she was betrayed. That's what I was. Betrayed. Again.